Tis the Season
by Nymphean
Summary: Harry reflects on the Christmas Eve when he and Severus first found each other... fluff and comedy abound in this short, sweet christmas story. Happy Holidays!


**A/N: **I've done it. I've written a Christmas fic. This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it ended up pretty long… meh, who cares, I'm posting it as one chapter anyway! This is in honor of the holidays… a little Harry/Snape action for all of you out shippers out there! Well, not so much action as fluff. Huge doses of fluff. But my friend and sorta-beta Meg Erskine Frere Albatou says it's funny fluff, so I'm reassured. Just keep in mind that I sat down and started to write and didn't get up until I was finished, which was a good couple of hours later. So yeah.

Disclaimer: I don't own it. JK does. She can sue, but all she'll get is a huge tub of Dubble Bubble and a ridiculously large collection of third-rate musical instruments.

Warning: Slash. Don't be an idiot and flame unless it's a valid complaint. Furthermore, it's slash involving a student and a teacher, even though that student is past the legal age of consent in Britain by one year. If this STILL offends you, than not only are you an idiot, but you should probably stop reading now. 

Last but definitely not least, thanks to Meg Erskine Frere Albatou, for being my unofficial beta and for tolerating my whininess and insecurity over posting this, and to Tina, for coming up with "welcome to the gutter, we've got fun and games." (Oh yeah, I also didn't write "welcome to the Jungle" or "baby, it's cold outside".)

Thanks! Enjoy!

-Nymphean

****

**'Tis the Season**

It's always on days like this, when the snow falls down in huge clumps outside the castle and my breath forms foggy patches on the windows of our rooms that I remember that first Christmas with him. Watching the snow, it's easy to slip into that old familiar feeling and think that things actually ARE the way they were. Easy to imagine that I'm seventeen again, that I'm actually not supposed to be here, that the feelings in my heart are secret and sacred, known by only myself and one other. Easy to imagine that I could be torn away from him at any minute, that the time we have together is fleeting, making it somehow all the more special and perfect. In some ways, when I let myself remember, it almost feels as if nothing has changed. 

Of course, it HAS changed, and drastically for the better at that, but every now and then it's nice to remember those first days, those sacred days, when we'd only just begun to know each other, to love each other. 

*****

Eight Years Earlier… 

"I wish we didn't have to leave you all alone, Harry." I smile solemnly at my best friend of seven years and shrug. 

"That's alright, Ron… I'll have plenty to do, I'm sure."

"You could always get started on the Potions work Snape assigned for over the holidays," Hermione pipes in. Ron rolls his eyes. 

"Thanks Hermione," I say with a small smile at Ron's incredulous expression. "I'll probably end up doing just that." Hermione smiles back at me, pacified, and takes off towards the front door of the school, shooting a glare at Ron as she passes. 

"I don't get it, Harry," Ron complains, "How come YOU'RE always so good with women? It makes no sense, logically, that you should get along so well with girls and I should be so lousy with them!" Ron picks up his trunk and begins to walk in the same direction Hermione had just gone. "It's because I'm straight, isn't it?"

"Probably," I reply with a smile. Looking over at Ron, I catch the look he's surreptitiously casting at Hermione. I've watched them give each other the same hurried look whenever the other's back is turned for about four years now. They are so obvious that it's a wonder neither of them have noticed how the other one feels yet. 

We are the last ones left in the front hall, and Ron's head snaps up at the sound of Hermione's impatient "Are you coming or not?" I find myself smothering a laugh. My best friend Ron Weasley, also known as Hermione Granger's bitch. Ron puts his bags down and turns towards me. 

"'Bye, Harry. Have a happy Christmas." 

"I will, don't you worry." We embrace each other warmly, and I can tell that Ron is really torn up about leaving me here this Christmas to go spend time with his family. He knows how important my friends are to me, how he and Hermione have been practically my only family for years and how much I love Christmas at Hogwarts, and he's hesitant to leave lest he ruin that for me. I find his brotherly concern to be one of the nicest things I've ever known. 

"Oh, and Ron? Don't worry about Hermione… she'll come around," I say in his ear, aware that my other best friend is watching us like a hawk. Ron and I step away from each other, him gaping, me with a twinkle in my eye. I grin widely at both Ron and Hermione as they walk out the door, trailing behind them to watch as they disappear down the path. I see Hermione look questioningly up at Ron, and see him smile tenderly at her in return. If Ron gets off his ass and does something about it, then maybe, just maybe, it'll be a happy holiday after all.

*****

Today is December 23rd, two days before Christmas. I've gotten special permission from Dumbledore to go into Hogsmeade today. A few of the professors are going, so it's not like I'll be unsupervised or anything. You can bet Dumbledore has to McGonnagal to watch me like a hawk. But I really don't mind. I have quite a bit of last minute shopping to finish up. I have Ron and all my other roommates' presents, as well as most of the Weasleys', Remus', and Dumbledore's, but I still need to get presents for Hermione, Sirius and the rest of my professors. 

I make my first stop at The Muggle Shoppe, the only store in Hogsmeade that sells muggle merchandise. There I find presents for three of the people on my list. For Hermione, I buy a cozy turtleneck sweater in a deep sapphire blue (she's always praising my taste in clothing). I find an insanely expensive leather jacket that I can't resist getting for Sirius, and I splurge on a subtle yet tasteful brooch for Professor McGonnagal, knowing that Neville somehow managed to blow up her favorite one in an unfortunate incident last week. As my head of house, I feel she deserves a special present. 

I've been working quite closely with many of my teachers in the past few years. Voldemort grows stronger all the time, and with every attack we are in more and more danger. Dumbledore has called the order together, and I've somehow managed to be at the forefront of every incident involving Voldemort and managed to survive thus far. As a result, I've been a part of all of the planning for the side of the light. I'm almost an adult wizard now… in another six months I will graduate, and then I plan to fully devote my life to defeating Voldemort. 

Many of the people I've gotten to know better over the past few years are the people who teach me every day. In a lot of cases, my professors have become more like my friends and family. I've grown especially close with Vivianne Vector and Anna Sprout, who are two of the most remarkable women I've ever met, as well as Orion Wellander, the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I actually assist Orion with his classes from time to time. Most of the teachers play favorites, and, whether fortunately or unfortunately, their favorites usually include me. The one teacher I haven't managed to get close to (Besides Trelawny, who's a total nitwit anyway) is Professor Snape. My perspective on the man has changed greatly since my earlier years at Hogwarts. I have gained new respect for him as both a teacher and a person. He has courage beyond that of anyone I can imagine (besides maybe Sirius), and for someone who used to be a Death Eater, he's undyingly loyal to Dumbledore and the side of the light. But although he's less frosty towards me these days, I wouldn't go so far as to say he's warmed to me. 

All of a sudden, my eye catches something and although I've just barely left the store, I stop in my tracks. A scarf made from wool so dark green that it's almost black is draped over the shoulder of an ebony-clad mannequin. It looks soft and warm and all together huggable. _Maybe something like THAT would help Snape warm up,_ I think, laughing at myself. And without knowing what possessed me to do so, I step back into the shop and buy the scarf. 

Back at the castle, I wrap up my purchases, writing little personal notes to go with each one. _Merry Christmas Hermione—Put this on, do your hair and go talk to Ron. You know you want to… _I grin to myself and tie a red ribbon around the package. _Dear Sirius—I'd tell you motorbikes are dangerous, but it would only make you want to ride it more, so Happy Christmas. _I tie the note to the box with Sirius' new jacket in it. Sirius and I are always joking about the motorbike that he loves so much. I tell him it's dangerous and irresponsible, and he tells me I'm the most oppressive godson he's ever heard of. But he knows I'm just kidding.

I wrap the rest of my presents, and find that I'm left with one more; Snape's. I frown at the scarf, still in the bag from the store, and then fold it up and transfigure a box to the right size. After the box is wrapped, I sit for several minutes with my quill to a piece of parchment. What am I doing? Why did I buy Snape a gift… he'll probably get angry or laugh or something. 

_Dear Professor Snape,_ I begin, then stop, balling up the parchment and frowning. Too personal. _To: Professor Snape._ No… that's a little too cold. Finally, I settle on a beginning. 

_Professor—_

Now what?

Chewing on the end of my quill, I finally decide to just go with whatever comes to mind. _Thought you could use this… the potions classroom is chilly this time of year. –Harry._

I grimace. Might as well write 'Baby, it's cold outside'. Oh well. It's not like Snape will even pay attention to it anyway, right? 

It's not until right before dinner on Christmas eve that I realize Snape's present is still sitting on my bedside table. Cursing Hedwig for not taking it with her when she went to deliver my presents (I swear she knew who it was destined for and just felt like being smart), I pick up the present and bring it with me, resolving to drop it off at the owlery before dinner. No such luck, however… the owlery is locked up tight. There's no way I'm getting in there tonight. 

I'm just about to head to dinner when I turn around and bump straight into someone. Looking up, I realize who it is and the sheer irony of the situation makes me laugh out loud. "Professor Snape," I say semi-cheerfully, trying to hide the present behind my back. He's already spied it, though.

"Potter." He says icily before glaring at me. "What are you hiding behind your back?" 

"Nothing," I say, trying to be as inconspicuous as I possibly can. Snape is having none of it, however. He puts out his hand. 

"It may be the holidays, Mr. Potter, but you are still a student and I am still a teacher and I demand that you hand over whatever foul object it is that you are hiding this minute."

I shrug. "Well, I suppose you can have it now, although it would probably be better just to wait until tomorrow…" I hold the present in front of me, and Snape snatches it, examining it closely. After a second or two, a look I've never before seen on him crosses his face, a look somewhat akin to confusion. He's seen his name on the tag. 

"What is this, Mr. Potter?" He says, his voice low. I figure now's probably not a good time to laugh… you never know when Snape might explode. 

"It's a present, Professor."

"I _know_ that, Potter," he says snappishly, "Why is MY name on this… this…"

"Present," I remind him. "And it's for you."

He seems genuinely taken aback by this, at least for a moment. Something unreadable crosses his face. And then he remembers himself, straightens up and clears his throat. "Well then. Thank you, Mr. Potter." His words are short and clipped, and I know it pains him to say them. He turns and begins to walk away.

"Your welcome. Merry Christmas, Professor," I call to his receding form. It may not be Merry just yet, but it certainly is interesting so far.

*****

I step into my room after the Christmas eve dinner, feeling full up to the very last hair on my head. I am about to flop down on my bed when I see a package wrapped in green paper sitting there. Cautiously, I pick up the package and look at the note attached. On the front is written _ Potter _in a familiar, scrawling script. I pluck the note off the package and turn it over. 

_Mr. Potter,_

_ If you can't make it behave, than for God's sake, hide it._

Curiously, I tear the paper off of the package and open the box. I am still for a moment as I slide the gift out, and then I begin to laugh out loud as I see what the package contains and the note starts to make sense. The writing and the dry sense of humor are easily recognizable to me. Snape got me a hat. 

I stand in front of my mirror and put the hat on. It's very dark red, and it complements my coloring well. It actually does look quite good, and no one would ever know I'm hiding the world's most unruly hair under there. My reflection whistles. 

"Someone thought very carefully when they picked that out." I wave dismissively. 

"Just good luck, I think." But really, I'm quite puzzled. Snape must have done this after the meal. I didn't really see him around afterwards. Of course, I wasn't looking… why would I have noticed if he'd been there or not? 

I realize that I feel almost as confused as Snape must have felt upon receiving my gift. I never really expected anything in return from him… I just meant to extend the olive branch. It's hardly the time to be making enemies among your own, what with Voldemort gaining power and all. 

The thought occurs to me that perhaps I should thank Snape. And so it comes to pass that I am waiting outside the door to Snape's chambers, waiting to be let in after knocking five times. 

Perhaps I should go away. I turn to do just that when I'm struck with a sudden thought. What if something's wrong? Snape doesn't seem like he'd just ignore a knock at the door, especially if it was insistent. He wouldn't want to miss something important. Perhaps he's hurt or something's wrong. I should try to get in. But I don't know the password. I squint at the large stone door as if perhaps it can give me a clue. Rather than a portrait, Snape's door has a crest with a snake on it, similar to the Slytherin crest. The Snake keeps moving around, and every now and then it hisses at me. 

"Um…" _password, password_. "Uh, okay, how about "Potions"? No no, that's stupid… um, "Potter stinks"? No… that's too obvious." I have an idea. It's a little far fetched, but… "Open," I say in parseltongue. The snake nods its serpentine head and the door swings open. My eyes widen. Well well, _there's_ something I didn't know I had in common with Snape. Slowly, I tiptoe inside through the door, and I jump when it shuts behind me. I take a moment to look around. 

The front room is nothing like I would have imagined it. Instead of being dark and dank and lonely, it's actually quite warm. It has a pair of large armchairs covered in Slytherin green velvet set in front of a crackling fireplace. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves make up one entire wall, and another wall is taken up mostly by a gigantic dark wood desk. The biggest surprise by far, however, is Snape himself. He is sitting in one of the armchairs with a large, leather-bound book in one hand and an empty brandy snifter in the other, with his head lolling off to one side, fast asleep. Around his neck is the scarf I gave to him. I smile at the sight of him. I've never seen the man look so peaceful. I walk over to where he's sleeping and, before I can stop myself, reach up to brush away a stray lock of hair that's fallen across his face.

I nearly scream as a hand darts up and grabs my wrist. Snape's eyes shoot open. 

"Potter?" he says, surprised. And then his expression turns angry. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"I… I…" Is all I can manage. Snape stands up and, towering over me, begins to shout.

"How did you get in here? Answer me!"

"I guessed the password, Professor," I say, aware that I am quite possibly in the most trouble I've ever been in at this school. 

"You guessed the password?" He repeats, somehow making it sound like I murdered a village. "And what, may I ask, were you planning on doing once you got in here?"

"I was coming to thank you for the gift," I reply. At least I have him there… it's a perfectly valid reason for me to be here. "I take it you like my present to you." Snape's eyes dart to the hat before he rips off the scarf and throws it on the chair. "I don't know what you're talking about," He says. I didn't get you a present."

"I recognized your writing on the note," I say, raising an eyebrow. "It's impossible NOT to recognize writing that is always delivering insults on your assignments."

"Any wizard with half a brain could have disguised their writing to look like mine, although why they'd waste their time I simply have no idea."

"I also recognized the mildly insulting jest at my expense. I'll be honest, it WAS funny, although you've definitely been more insulting in the past." For a moment, Snape's expression falters, but he regains his air of raw hatred soon enough.

"I think you should leave, Mr. Potter. I'm seriously considering having you expelled for this, and you're not helping matters."

I roll my eyes. "You've threatened that before, and you've never followed through. Admit it, you sent me a gift. Just accept my thanks."

"I accept nothing from insolent brats who don't know their place." 

"You accepted the scarf," I point out. He grabs the gift and throws it at me. 

"Take it back." 

"No," I say, tossing the scarf back at him. "It's yours!" 

"You bought it." The scarf is hurled at my head. I catch it. And throw it back.

"I gave it to you!" I cross my arms and glare at my professor. "My God, what is your problem with me? You've hated me ever since I first walked through the doors of the school. I've tried to be friendly now for almost four years, and all you've done is give me the cold shoulder. Now you can't even accept a simple gift at Christmas time?" I shake my head. "You're absolutely pathetic."

Snape looks almost shocked at my outburst. I sincerely doubt he's ever been told off by a student before. I'm in for it, I can tell. But then his face softens. 

"You're right," He says, taking me completely off guard.

"Huh?"

"You're right, Potter, I AM pathetic. I'm a pathetic, greasy bastard. Oh gods, what have I done? What am I doing with my life?"

I roll my eyes. "Sarcasm. Nice." 

"It is nice, isn't it? Don't you just _adore_ how _nice_ everyone is at Christmas?" 

I don't believe this. "Are you sure your last name isn't actually Scrooge? Because you are seriously ruining Christmas for me and everyone in this castle."

"Oh, _I'm_ sorry, Potter… you're feelings are, of course, the most important factor in this equation."

Now I'm starting to get really angry. "Look, why don't you just do us all a favor and end it all? Either forget your sorrow and your tortured façade for a few minutes and join us and be happy like every other person in this castle, or just go away."

"Ah yes. If only I could end my pathetic existence by way of Christmas. Death by eggnog. Mauled by a dragon beneath the mistletoe. Here lies Severus Snape. He never saw those reindeer coming. Now if you don't mind getting the hell out of my rooms…"

"I DO mind," I yell, angered by the fact that he's making a joke out of something I take seriously. "I tried to do something nice for you, just once, because I felt bad for you, and this is the thanks I get? Well that's great!"

He is suddenly very still. "_You_ felt _bad_ for _me_?" He repeats, his voice as sharp as a dagger. "I See." He turns towards the fireplace. "Leave now." I don't understand this sudden shift of moods. 

"Professor, I didn't mean—"

"GO!" He howls, turning, and I see something in his eyes that I never expected to see there: pain. And all of a sudden, I can't leave. I don't know why, maybe I have a death wish, or maybe it's the way he looked for that one moment back there, asleep in the armchair, but I walk towards him and place a hand on his back. He strikes my arm away, as I fully expected he would. 

"I didn't mean I felt sorry for you, I just meant I felt bad because you're always by yourself. And I'd like to help you, but no matter what I do I can't seem to penetrate the layer of hatred you've built up against me." I stare at his rigid back. "I don't understand why you hate me. By rights, _I'm_ the one who should hate _you_."

He turns around and steps towards me until he's towering right over me. "I hate you because you always win where you should, in all logic, lose. I hate you because you NEVER lose. I hate you because you're so goddamn optimistic. I hate you because you're always trying to help where you're not needed or wanted. I hate you because you're so bloody stupid and everyone calls it bravery. I hate you because everyone loves you so bloody much. I hate you because _I_—" He stops. "I hate you," He says. And then he kisses me.

For a minute, all I can do is stand there, too shocked to do anything but concentrate on standing up straight. And then, when I realize just exactly what's happening, I can hardly even do that. I try to stop myself, but it's too late; my legs buckle, and I start to fall over. But before I can, I feel strong arms around my waist, holding me up. Perfect, long, well-muscled arms attached to the graceful, skilled hands that are now running up and down the length of my back. I moan with a mixture of pleasure and frustration. I've never been this confused, and what's more, I've never loved confusion this much. I press my body against his.

"I hate you," He whispers against my lips, "Because I don't really hate you at all." I feel a chill run down my spine at his words. I lean against him, relishing in the feeling of solid muscle and flesh pushing back. 

"I never hated you," I say, brushing my lips over his neck.

"Don't lie."

"Okay…" I almost laugh at this, almost. "But I haven't hated you for years now."

"That's good to know," He says, and I almost think I hear a smile in his voice. Then, abruptly, he grabs my face and pushes me away from him. "Stop."

"What?" Now I'm REALLY confused. 

"You have six months left of school. I'm your teacher. Even with what's already happened things are bound to change now between us. You can't really think I'd allow this to progress any further."

I don't really believe what I'm hearing. "So what, you're saying that you don't want…"

"Brilliant, Potter… your intelligence never ceases to astound me." I step back and glare at him.

"Funny." He shrugs. "What do you suggest I do now?" I ask, completely at a loss.

"I don't know, and frankly, Mr. Potter, I don't care. That is for you to decide." His face is blank, I can't read him. There's no hate anymore, but nothing to suggest anything different either. 

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, aware that I sound stupid but not really caring. 

"Doing what?"

"Starting something," I say seriously, making him raise a skeptical eyebrow at me, "And refusing to finish it, and then acting like you hate me again. It's infuriating."

"You haven't the slightest clue what infuriating is, but I'll give you a hint; you define it perfectly."

I glare at him. "Don't treat me like a child, Snape."

He raises both eyebrows this time, and does something I rarely see him do: He laughs. "Potter, you ARE a child. And that is precisely why this is going absolutely nowhere."

"You're wrong," I say stubbornly. My face feels hot, I'm sure I'm blushing, and there's a familiar prickly sensation behind my eyes. _Not now, please god not now…_ I can't help it, though, and my eyes start to water. I'm not crying, I swear. 

"Don't do that," Snape says disgustedly. "It's a childish tactic and it won't work."

"Then don't toy with me."

"I don't toy with anyone or anything. What makes you think I would start with you?" 

I feel as if I'm being squeezed from all sides. "Then WHY? Why did you do that?" He is silent for a moment, contemplative. 

"Because I'm an impatient man. A very impatient man."

"Then why wait six months?" I ask, suddenly feeling as if I've been dealt a very important card. Snape raises an eyebrow.

"What makes you think anything is going to change for your favor in six months?"

"Because after then, all of your excuses will be completely useless. And because you're so damned impatient." For a moment he just stares at me, and then a slow smile breaks out across his face. Not his usual sneer, but a genuine smile. It catches me completely off guard, as does the fact that it really is a brilliant smile. It hits me, not for the first time by any means, that Snape is actually a very attractive man when he's not too busy being the most frightening being on the planet. 

"I've taught you much more than I thought," He says, sounding almost proud. He takes a step back towards me. "Six months is far too long, Mr. Potter… we may have to work around the inconvenient timing." I look up at him and our eyes lock.

"I think you can call me Harry now," I say just before our lips meet. 

*****

When I wake up, the snow is falling in thick clumps outside the window. It's a strange feeling, being in the dungeons. The only window in the room is a tiny hole right near the ceiling. But it's large enough for me to see the snow. Severus is asleep, his arm slung protectively around my waist. I roll over and face him, looking once more upon that peaceful sleeping face. Only this time it's so much better because I know I belong here. Something tells me this is where I've always belonged, that all those years of searching for a place to call my own are finally over. He was surprisingly kind to me after we made love, and even during, although for the most part our passion took both of us over. I never expected that kind of caring from someone like Severus Snape, but when I think about it now, it somehow seems right. We were both missing pieces, and although I don't think we'll be able to fill nearly all of the gaps with each other, it's a start. And here, in his bed, in his arms, I feel right. I feel like this is where I'll be, not necessarily forever, but for a good long time at least. I won't tell him yet, though… he doesn't need to know right now. I look at his face, studying it carefully. I didn't have much of a chance to last night. There are wrinkles and fine lines creasing the skin around his eyes, on his forehead, and near his lips. He looks a good five to ten years older than I know him to be, but somehow that only adds to his character. His long, defined nose is not so much hooked as it is slightly crooked, and I think of how it would feel to trace the bridge of it with my finger, to feel the uneven structure beneath my touch. His lips do not smile, but that only means I'm left with the task of finding ways to make them curve upwards instead of down. A stray lock of hair has fallen into his face in his sleep, and I reach over to brush it away. Again, I almost scream as he reaches up and grabs my wrist.

"DON'T do that," He says without opening his eyes. "And stop staring… it's unnerving." I can't hold back the grin that's bursting through. 

"Sorry," I reply, leaning in and kissing him. 

"Brat," He says, lifting one eyelid to look at me. A smile flickers across his face. 

"I saw that," I say. He ignores me. 

"Try toothpaste," He says instead of responding to my comment. "Your mouth tastes like a sewer."

"Entirely your fault." The other eye opens, and I am rewarded with a chuckle. 

"Gryffindor Whore."

"Shut your mouth or have it shut for you, you Slutty Slytherin," I reply, eliciting another chuckle from my… holy shit, my _lover._ I've used that term before… I wasn't exactly a blushing virgin before last night, after all, but still… this is Severus Snape. And we're _lovers_. Something tells me it's not a responsibility that comes lightly. 

I shake off my momentary shock at this revelation. Better not start calling it things, just in case Severus disagrees. "As much as I love your pillow-talk…" I say teasingly, not bothering to finish the sentence before placing my lips on his. He groans, and not happily. 

"I meant what I said about the sewer, Potter… it really is disgusting." 

"Yeah, well, welcome to the gutter, we've got fun and games," I reply. He shoots me a look that says he's dead serious. "You're not exactly the spokes person for scope this morning either, you know."

"Entirely your fault," He says.

"Hmm, touché." I get up from the bed, pulling a blanket with me and leaving Severus to scowl and shiver alone while I find my wand and perform a cleaning spell, first on my teeth and then on his. "Toothbrushes are overrated," I say, grinning a fresh and clean smile. "Where were we?"

**Two hours later:**

Sev's in the shower, so I'm left here to contemplate all that's happened in the past day all by myself. It's confusing, exciting and a tiny bit upsetting all at once. All I know for sure is that I love it here. I feel safer than I've ever felt before, which is strange because Severus is still basically the same old slimy git that I always wanted to be as far away from as possible before. It's funny how things change. In hindsight, I should have seen this coming sooner. I knew there was a reason why it was so important to bury the hatchet with Severus, but I couldn't figure out why for the longest tie. Maybe I just didn't want to admit it to myself. But I'm ready to admit it now. Over the past day, I've discovered things about Severus Snape that I never even though about before. Such as the fact that he's unbelievably funny, in his own dry sort of way. He's harsh and honest, brutally so. He's incredibly lonely, even though he'd never admit it (A situation which, hopefully, I'll manage to fix.). He can be sweet, if you know how to read the insults and jests properly. He's a phenomenal lover. He's a phenomenal person, even with the insulting, cruel exterior. That's a part of him, just like everything else, and it takes each and every part to create a whole, a person. A person who I think I might fall in love with. A person who I've already started to fall in love with. 

"You need to work on your reflexes," Severus whispers in my ear, making me jump. He chuckles. 

"I didn't even know you were out of the shower," I say, still slightly shaken. He shrugs. 

"That's what happens when you don't pay attention." 

"This isn't a class, Sev." His eyes widen.

"You know… you're RIGHT. I can't believe I didn't notice before now."

"Shut up," I say, laughing. He raises an eyebrow.

"Or you'll what? Deduct house points? Oh wait… you can't DO that!" I glare at him. "But I can…" I shoot him a look that clearly says 'you wouldn't dare', to which he stares back at me, completely dead-pan. "Fifty points from Gr—" I silence him with a kiss. 

"That'll teach you," I say when we pull apart. 

"Yes… well. I still have a lesson or too up my sleeve." He kisses me again, and when we pull away, our eyes meet in one of those rare, perfect moments. "Happy Christmas, Harry," He says earnestly. I just grin back at him for a moment before throwing my arms around him and burying my face in his neck. 

"Thank you, Sev." And I'm not sure (the beating of my own heart is drowning everything else out) but I think I hear him whispering 'You're Welcome'.

Eight Years after that: Present 

I reach up and behind me, catching his arm before it snakes around my waist. I hear his approving chuckle before I turn around to face him. 

"Caught," I say accusingly. He shakes his head seriously.

"Dumb luck, brat." I shrug.

"Yeah, probably." I turn back to the window, and Sev moves to stand beside me. 

"You're thinking… what brings about this momentous occasion?" I scowl at him and pull on his scarf until his face is millimeters from mine. It's become sport of a joke between the two of us to get each other scarves and hats as a Christmas eve present. So far, there are eight scarves and eight hats in our collections. Over the years, I've discovered that, among the many other practical uses of scarves, they also serve as excellent lassos. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I say, and then release him from my 'lasso' without giving him the silently promised kiss. 

"You're incorrigible," He says bitterly, moving towards me to claim his prize. I shake my head. 

"Not now, Sev… I've got to run. Between my classes and Hermione's, I've got a full schedule until the end of the day." 

He scowls. "You HAD to take her classes, didn't you? I honestly don't see why she couldn't just teach until the end of the term."

"Sev, she's eight and a half months pregnant. With triplets. She can barely stand!" Sev rolls his eyes.

"There's only one thing I can think of that can possibly be worse than Weasley twins—besides you, of course—and that's Weasley Triplets." Sev scowls, and I can already imagine him torturing Hermione and Ron's future children for the entirety of their school careers. 

"Just remember, they're part Granger too." 

He rolls his eyes. "The perfect combination—hellion meets know-it-all." 

I decide, against my better judgment, to silence him in the only truly effective way. When we pull apart, he has his eyes closed and is almost smiling. Almost. 

"I'll finish that later," I say, gathering up my papers for my next class, Fifth year Defense against the Dark Arts with Gryffindor. 

"If you don't, you'll be severely punished."

"I'm counting on it," I say, giving one final tug on his scarf before heading out of our rooms. 

I doubt either on of us could have seen the way we are now on that Christmas morning eight years ago. Neither of us could have predicted that we'd end up like this. I doubt Severus ever though he'd feel the way he does now; happy, loved, safe. We offer each other the things we'd both been searching for our entire lives. And over the years, we've learned to love each other more than either of us had thought possible before. Every day my love for Severus grows, and even though most people look upon our relationship as the most dysfunctional union in the world (what kind of happy couple use nicknames like "Brat", "Whore", "Slut", and "Slimy old git"?), we're both perfectly happy in it. Sev still frightens at least one first year to the point of wetting themselves every year, and usually I'm the one to comfort the poor, embarrassed child (Usually a Hufflepuff). It's a happy balance. And even though no one would say either one of us has changed very much because of it, we've both been altered, in that, on that Christmas eight years ago, we both found the missing piece, that part of us that was lacking until then. And we embraced it, and became whole again. 

And that, perhaps, is the greatest gift I've known.

*****

Merry Christmas!

-Nymphean


End file.
